To Catch a Thief
by j.pembroke
Summary: Matthew McCormick has dealt with a lot of thieves in his lifetime.  Few of them were this much trouble.  Features Matthew and Cory Raines.


**To Catch a Thief**  
_by Justin P_.

We caught him quite literally red-handed, slick to the elbows with blood, and great gouts of it on his tunic spoke eloquently of his guilt, if further proof had been needed. He'd hauled his prey down to the river, and I'd picked up the trail of blood and bent grass, then gone back for two of my men before following further. Desperate men are quite often dangerous, and though my Immortality protected me from permanent harm, I was unwilling to risk losing my quarry, should he manage to wound or kill me.

As we drew close, an all-too-human sound made its way to my ears through the near-stillness of the forest. Someone was whistling. I gave my men the sign to move silently, and both, experienced sergeants, obeyed well and instantly. I sent them one to either side, to flank our man, and I myself went forward to confront him, my hand on my sword-hilt. Properly, the job should have gone to one of my sergeants, but I have always disliked sending other men first into danger. Besides, I was curious about the whistling. I'd recognized the tune as one of the bawdier ditties that were currently making the rounds of the countryside, and I wanted a good look at a man who could whistle so lightheartedly while on such serious business.

With any inadvertent noise I might have made covered by the rush of the river, I achieved my goal and got a clear look at my quarry. I also had a good view of the deer he'd poached and was even now gutting. As I strode forward and into the clearing, he broke off his whistle in mid-note, and his hands stilled at their grisly work as his head came up with the same startled jerk as a surprised animal's.

He was a tall, dark-haired young fellow with a lean, muscular build that would cause us some trouble if he chose to fight, so I was glad to see the sudden wary resignation in his eyes that meant he had the brains to know he was caught. His face, even in the tension of his current predicament, was well-made, with high cheekbones and a sensuous mouth. In fact, only a certain stubbornness about his jaw saved him from being overly pretty. His eyes, which locked on mine as I closed on him, were a deep, clear green, and even in that fatal moment they seemed to glimmer with some secret amusement.

"Hold, in the King's name," I told him, drawing my sword. The timely appearance of my sergeants, one to either side of him, hemming him in, checked the impulse to run which had shown clearly in his eyes as I advanced. Instead, he put down his skinning-knife and straightened, then favoured me with the most charming grin I've ever seen on the face of such a rogue in all of my Immortal years.

"Now, here's an ugly little dilemma," he said, still wearing that easy smile.

"Dilemma for you, perhaps," I told him, deliberately hardening my heart against his charm, his youth, and his good looks. I had my duty to discharge. "Killing the King's deer is a hanging offence," I said. He winced, and his smile faded, only to brighten again in a moment as he spoke.

"Who are you, then, to take me and hang me over a dead deer? It's not as though His Majesty will miss it." He was sidling towards the riverbank as he spoke, though slowly, so as not to attract my attention to the movement. It was a futile attempt; I gestured to my sergeants even as I gave him answer.

"I am Matthew of Tutbury, the king's sheriff in these parts," I told him.

My words seemed to be a signal for action. My men moved forward and as they did, the poacher abandoned all pretext and dashed for the dubious safety of the nearby river. He was quick, and would have made it had a tree-root not caught his foot and sent him sprawling. As my men hauled him to his feet and put manacles on him, he shrugged as best as he was able.

"It was worth a try," he said, smiling ruefully.

I should have had some hint then of what was to come: of the number of times I was to hear those words over the coming centuries, of the numerous disasters those same syllables would herald, but apparently Immortality does not convey prescience, for I felt nothing but amused aggravation.

"Can you swim, then?" I asked, my curiosity idly aroused. Most of the villagers could not, which was the reason I hadn't thought to block my captive from the river. Again, he smiled.

"Not a stroke," he admitted easily. "Still, I figured I had a better chance of learning in a hurry than I do of learning how to breathe while dangling by my neck from a rope." When he burst into laughter at his own dark humour, I could not quite help joining in, though I quickly recalled my station and sobered.

"What's your name, man?" I asked.

"Corwin o' the Green," he said. "The local midwife found me in a field of spring barley and raised me until she died. I've no man's name to lay claim to, so she chose that one." The too-relaxed tone of his voice hid an old pain and a true defensiveness that only his eyes betrayed.

Remembering the self-doubt that had assailed me when I'd learned that I, like every other of my kind, was also a foundling, I had to stifle the compassionate words that rose within me. Instead, I went behind him to be certain that the manacles were secure.

I got within a foot of him before I stopped, nearly swearing out loud from shock alone. I could feel the man, though he didn't feel like another Immortal; rather, his Presence was a pale, barely-discernible shadow of one of ours, and he gave no sign that he could sense me in return. The situation was entirely new to me, though my teacher had spoken of being able to identify those mortals who would one day be like us. Was that, then, what I was sensing? He had told me less than five minutes ago that he was a foundling...

Pushing the troublesome thoughts from my mind, I checked Corwin's manacles and our party set off through the forest back to Tutbury Castle.

I let my sergeants go first, the prisoner between them, and followed. My head was spinning with speculation. If Corwin was fated to be Immortal, what in God's name was I supposed to do with him? Once I hanged him, he'd be helpless to the whims of the Game. Should I take his head, as he was beyond the king's justice? The idea was repugnant, and smacked of murder. Ought I order him beheaded, rather than hanged? Again, it felt like murder: besides, not only did I have no compelling reason to grant a poacher a nobleman's justice, I had no idea what would happen were a nascent Immortal beheaded in my presence. I had no intention of taking a Quickening in front of witnesses.

What, then, to do with him? The honourable thing would be to cut him down and train him when he revived, if he didn't hold a grudge against me for hanging him in the first place. If I took him as my student, though, I'd have to move on, and I'd only been in Tutbury for three years.

It was the thought of what my teacher would have to say if she ever found out that I'd behaved less than honourably towards a new Immortal that made up my mind. Ceirdwyn's lectures were bad enough, but on the rare occasions that she'd been truly furious with me, I'd heartily wished that I could cut my own head off out of shame. She was one of the most eloquent women I've ever met, and anger only increased her powers of oratory. I could almost hear her as I rode, and as always, she was right. So I would have to move on! I was Immortal; I could always come back if I wished. I knew what the proper thing to do was: all that remained for me now was to do it.

Feeling easier in my mind, I caught up with my sergeants just in time to hear Corwin doing his level best to bribe them into letting him go. There was no desperation in his voice, only a teasing, coaxing note. I was pleased to see that both of my men told the thief in no certain term to shut his mouth even before they realized that I was once again within earshot.

Corwin, however, had apparently heard me: he turned his head and addressed me, startling the men holding him. "What about you, my lord Sheriff?" he said. "I'm sure your coffers could use some more gold."

"I'm sure that they could," I said dryly. "I'm equally sure that you don't have any, else you'd have bought your supper and spared yourself the price of a hanging."

"Perhaps I simply craved the taste of venison," he said, smiling slyly. "Well? Will you let me buy my life?"

"I serve the law, man," I told him. He shrugged lightly enough, but I saw his eyes go dark with thoughts of his own impending demise.

* * *

As he'd been caught with the evidence of his crime still bleeding in front of him, no trial was needed to determine the fate of Corwin o' the Green. He was hanged at noon on the next day in the public square, and I will admit that he went to his death with a panache that I have rarely seen equaled+. One young woman put a flower into his manacled hands, and I was close enough to overhear him when he told her that he would remember her for as long as he lived. She gave a little sob as the guards moved him onwards, but he laughed, and I had to bite back a smile of my own at the jest he hadn't realized he was making. When they got him onto the scaffold, he bowed low, like a gentleman being presented at court, and in truth, when I saw the trap open I was glad that this death would not be a permanent one.

* * *

+(I would like to take a moment here to correct a popular misapprehension. Cory claims that his first death went down in song and poetry. In point of fact, there _was_ a minstrel present. He was the worst minstrel I'd ever heard, and if _I_ had been the subject of the god-awful caterwauling he called 'The Ballad of Corwin o' the Green' (he had no imagination, in addition to being tone deaf) I would never have admitted as much to another living soul, let alone gone about bragging for eight hundred years. But then, as I have often said, Cory has no shame.)

* * *

_Author's Notes: Written for the highlander50 challenge at livejournal. The prompts were 'thief' and 'follow'. Unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes._

_Matthew of Tutbury is an alias for Matthew McCormick, an eight-hundred year old Immortal who has spent most of his life in law enforcement. He featured in the episode 'Manhunt'. Corwin o' the Green, a.k.a. Cory Raines, who featured in the episode 'Money No Object', was his first student. Cory has spent most of his life stealing things. _

_Feedback? Is always a good thing._


End file.
